


A Girl Who Lost Her Way

by ChaoticEther



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Mild Gore, Sienna's in it for a bit, descriptions of violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 20:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticEther/pseuds/ChaoticEther
Summary: Blake's been living under Adam long enough, and she finally snaps. She takes his place as the high leader of the White Fang, right before the Fall of Beacon. She meets a blonde there who changes her outlook on life: Yang Xiao Long.





	A Girl Who Lost Her Way

Blake’s lived under Adam’s thumb for long enough. So long that she’s forgotten what it’s like to take breaths of air that she didn’t have to share with him. So, so long that she pulls the katana out of his chest and doesn’t flinch.

“Beacon, you said? Sounds like the perfect place to set an example.” She snarls into his ear as he crumples, turns to the men already bending a knee to her. “It’ll be dust by tomorrow morning.”

Cinder told her it would be messy, that the Grimm would be on their side. Unfortunately for Blake, the Grimm don’t discriminate between targets quite that easily. As Beacon’s courtyard burns, she lands delicately in the centre, grace amidst chaos, where she belongs best. White, panther-like mask doing its best to hide the shining gold as she calmly strides towards the tallest tower. A Beowolf lunges, only for its head to be sent rolling before it can even swipe at her, melting on the ground.

_Never miss a beat._

The nunchaku hits, or so Neon thinks. A ribbon is pulled taut around her midsection as the black-clad figure dissipates, throwing her to the ground. Blake’s not here for murder. Well, pointless murder, at least. She fights a disappointed sigh as her blades separate, cutting up stray bullets from the robotic suit a group of students are working to take down.

“It’s a shame,” Blake muses, switching the grip on her katana, “I’d have thought huntsmen were better than this.”

“Neon!” A voice cries, and everything else goes silent. A _human_ , standing in front of the thrown form she was still advancing towards.

“Hmph. Maybe I was wrong.” Blake smirks, braces herself against the crushing sound waves, bides her time before using a shadow clone to launch free and catapult into him. The hilt of her sword strikes a pressure point, sending the man to the ground unconscious. Fires lick at her heels as she loosens the bow on her head, wrapping it around the pair and pulling them to relative safety. Her ears twitch, warming to the oh-so-familiar sounds of battle.

“You don’t deserve what Adam would’ve done to you.” She admits, placing her sword back in its sheath and onto her back.

Another faunus, blond and toned, runs out of the cafeteria with a shorter, red-and-black haired girl as Blake approaches. The appropriate reaction, given the violence burning in her eyes and black tailcoat billowing behind her. Everything about her stance screams danger, a threat to anyone who dares stand against her. This was _her_ White Fang, a considered threat, cold and precise but not entirely lacking empathy. If anything, Adam had bolstered that instead of destroy it. And, standing against her in the ruined cafeteria, steps crunching thanks to broken glass, was the most beautiful woman Blake had ever seen. Yellow hair loose and falling to her hips, jacket stopping and getting replaced by bare abs, eyes the colour of exploding stars and fresh blood. At least, they were, before she blinked, replaced by the calm lavender of spring.

“No blows above the shoulders? I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face.” The challenger jokes, bracelets expanding to cover her hands and forearms.

“Rules? That’s a new one,” Blake scoffs, shrugs out of her tailcoat and lowers down with her sword, “not many people have the balls to mock the high leader of the White Fang.”

“You’re feisty. I like that.” Her opponent replies, hops a little on her feet in preparation.

“Do you always flirt with people who could kill you in a split second?”

“Only the cute girls. Now, shall we dance?”

For a moment, Blake actually hesitates. Imagines her sword against the girl’s neck and shivers. Perhaps in another life they’re on the same side in this fucked up mess she’s lived through so far. They leap at each other and it’s like a routine. Perfectly choreographed opposites, meeting and falling like the rises and crashes of a song. Chaotic, but held together by the pounding of footsteps, weapons clashing and sparking in the room lit only by fire. The boxer gets a lucky shot in. Blake’s mask cracks, splinters before falling away from her face to reveal furrowed brows above golden irises.

“I made a bet with myself you’d have pretty eyes.” The huntress pants, chest heaving as she picks herself back up a little, hair igniting. Blake’s aura shimmers, but she’s holding her ground as the assault begins. She stifles a chuckle, notices a mistake and kicks the girl away, her own aura breaking as she dusts herself off.

“You’re good. Compared to your classmates, at least.” The faunus appraises, sheathing her sword and wrapping its ribbon around her arm once again.

“How _dare_ you attack the boss!” A tank of a man screams, chainsaw splitting the air from behind the blonde. The sounds of sinew and bone being sliced are unmistakable, and he separates her arm at the elbow before a shadow clone can throw him away. Copper mixes with ash to form an unbearable scent, burning at the back of Blake’s throat as she puts the lieutenant out of his misery.

“That’s not how the faunus earn respect. I was having fun with her,” She adds, scooping the unconscious girl into her arms and running until the burning is too much. _Why is it always the pretty ones,_ she sighs, all-too-used to the sight of blood as she rips off a sleeve to wrap the girl’s arm. There’s no real logic for saving her, at least, not in Adam’s rulebook. But Blake’s sick of the death, the senselessness of it all. Tonight, was supposed to be a statement, not a tally of innocent bodies. That’s why she breathes a sigh of relief when she checks for a pulse and finds one. She tells herself that, anyway. Maybe when she’s able to fight again they’ll get an actual resolution, an end to their perfect dance.

For once, she’s glad the White Fang has so many illicit connections. No one questions her now-absolute authority, or dares mention her motives. The mystery fighter still hasn’t woken up yet, clearly much more exhausted than she ever let on. Blake would be impressed if it weren’t for the lack of conversation on the boat to Menagerie. One leg is pulled against her while the other dangles off the bed, swings with the waves as she watches the blonde girl’s chest rise and fall rhythmically from across the cabin before looking back to her book. A screen shows the restoration attempts by Beacon staff; giant dragon Grimm still petrified atop the tower as a list of missing students scrolls by. _-Pyrrha Nikos, Yang Xiao Long,_ she only tunes in to the last few names, recognising the rest as teachers or Cinder’s associates. Pyrrha was known across the globe, meaning-

“Yang Xiao Long.” The sweetness with which it rolls off her tongue is almost sickening. Like it might _actually_ belong there.

“I never told you my name.” Yang’s voice is dry as it rises from her supine form, clearly only pretending to be calm. “And I certainly didn’t give you permission to use it.”

“I kept you alive,” Blake argues, blood already beginning to boil again, “that’s more than can be said for most people who cross me.”

“Charming. Do you plan on killing me eventually?”

“When it’s a fair fight, maybe.” She doesn’t need to point it out. Her own hand presses against the scar on her abdomen, feels the wound searing through her body once again. That must’ve been nothing compared to what Yang felt, still feels. Part of her is missing, and it almost saddens Blake. All her cracks are on the inside, easily hidden by barked orders and a confident grin. Right now, looking at Yang, her pulse pushes against them, makes them groan under the strain.

“Where are you taking me?” Yang asks, watches as crows fly by the window.

“Menagerie. My home.” Blake looks at her, but doesn’t expect the courtesy to be returned.

“Why-?”

“There’s a little girl there. She sits in a mansion all alone now. She’s angry, and tired, and broken. But she made a promise to keep everyone there safe. That the White Fang would keep them safe and make them equals. Thanks to Adam, we forgot that along the way. I have to fix those bridges myself.” Her ears twitch at the influx of sea air caused by Yang opening the window, tries to hide her shocked expression as their eyes finally meet again.

“And where exactly do I fit into all this?” She steals a glance at the remaining half of Ember Celica, wonders if the faunus caught it.

“Insurance policy. In case an example needs to be made to earn their trust back.” Blake deadpans, eyes burrowing into Yang’s skull.

The boat docks just after midday, sun beating down hard as the pair disembark. It’d be an acceptable temperature if it weren’t for the humidity, Blake’s already unbuttoned her shirt down to her navel in expectance, glances sideways to make sure Yang is actually walking down onto the beach with her. She picks out a familiar face in the crowd, toolbox open beside him and carrying a large box of Atlesian leftovers. Wolf ears slightly tinted grey along with the rest of his hair, his ears perked up at the sight of Blake walking through the crowds. He’d be a top scientist if it weren’t for Atlas’ opinions of faunus. One of the best and brightest, with his life indebted to the current leader of the White Fang. Getting a call from her _always_ meant she needed his expertise, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“Bran.” She nods her head slightly in greeting, and Yang can just barely pick out the corners of the girl’s lips curling upwards. “How’s life on Menagerie treating you?”

“Oh, the usual. Teaching all morning, house calls all afternoon. I really do appreciate it, Blake.” He rocks on his heels, gaze flicking between the pair of them before settling on Yang’s arm. “I take it this is the girl you wanted me to fix up a prosthetic for?”

“Yes. This is Yang, my… Uh…”

“ _Dance partner.”_ Yang winks, shakes the man’s hand emphatically. “You’re a scientist?”

“Something like that.” He chuckles, and it almost tells the whole story, “just need to take a few measurements and you can go on your way.”

Yang acquiesces as he proceeds to measure and note down various dimensions, pausing briefly to do calculations and compare against the box of standardised parts. Eventually, he steps away, nodding satisfactorily before turning to Blake once more.

“For our people.” He almost stands military-straight as he says it.

“For our people.” Blake echoes back, finally relaxes some amount, tension in her body releasing like a spring. She’s already halfway up the beach by the time Yang jogs to catch up, asks the only burning question she can think of,

“’for our people’?” She raises an eyebrow, curiosity overriding fear for the brief moment.

“Something I said. A long time ago.” Blake sighs, remembers the smoke rising from the village as Adam paced in the square. “Adam wanted _everyone_ to join his cause, by force if needed. I managed to talk him down. I helped Bran avoid that fate, let him stay in Menagerie to help people in ways he knew how.” She’s understating herself, and she knows it; the only reason the entire city is still standing is because of what she said. “ _My_ war won’t be like his.” She falls silent, shoves her hands into her pockets as they encroach on the sprawling mansion below.

Yang knocks on the large doors, doesn’t realise the futility of the action until Blake turns the handle and walks inside. Everything’s covered in a fine layer of dust, whatever life was in there put on hold until a later date. Blake removes both of the rings from her left hand, places them delicately on a short table along with her sword. Her eyes flutter closed, and she can almost see how things used to be. Her father, glasses perched on his nose while he reads through the paperwork that comes with being chieftain. Her mother, tying her hair into a ponytail before letting the younger Blake help make tea. She catches on an exhale, remembered the blonde who followed her inside is still present.

“So… Where’s the little girl?” Yang smiles despite the circumstances, strangely at ease when fraternising with the enemy, though she doubts they’re even that any more.

“You’re looking at her,” Blake turns, brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, “chieftain of Menagerie, Blake Belladonna. And now, high leader of the White Fang.”

There’s something unnervingly beautiful about the authority Blake wields so coolly. The way she seemingly refuses to hold herself like near-royalty, yellow eyes glinting with unwavering determination, a firestorm building within them. But, right now, the only thing Yang can think about is holding her. Falling under her spell like so many others. Maybe she already has. Her lopsided, wistful grin is a challenge, a threat, begging to be taken on. She’s starting to think that’s why she was spared.

“Nothing here besides that little girl and her ghosts, now.” The faunus continues, “whoever she was.”

“Why me?” Yang’s heartbroken, knows she shouldn’t be, but lets her heart sit in her throat for the moment, _why me._

“I made a vow to her. That I’d show her all the difference I made in the world, Yang. You’re the only real proof that I’m not like him. That I can make a change _without_ throwing innocent lives in the way.”

“Blake.” She says it with a sincerity that the young woman hasn’t heard in a long time. It isn’t growled, or commanding, or controlling. It’s just her name. “This whole city is here because of you. _I’m_ here because of you.”

“For now.” The reminder flicks a switch, lets Blake regain her composure. “If you keep being so emotional, I might cut you down right there.”

Nights where she can’t sleep are commonplace, but this first night back in Menagerie felt off, somehow. If she squints at the fire crackling in front of her, she can almost make out Yang fighting inside it. The grace of her destruction, shotgun blasts ringing out in the marble hall. Losing herself in the _fun_ of it all. Yang’s asleep upstairs, but Blake hears someone walking, no, sprinting down the hallway towards her. The steps pause once they no doubt have a line of sight to her, weapon pointed at the back of Blake’s head. Her pulse barely jumps, placing a cup down gently on the table and closing her eyes. _Amateurs,_ she thinks, grip tightening on Gambol Shroud as a fireball scorches through her clone.

“Who’s after me, Fennec?” She hisses, quiet but intimidating, the reversed curve of her sword against his neck.

“There are those within the White Fang who do not agree with your… Sudden, ascension to leadership.” The faunus gasps, cold steel pressing just enough to draw blood.

“Tell them they can dig up Adam’s corpse to ask. If you ever make it to them again.” Blake fights the glee in her throat, releases the sword from his neck and ducks as Yang launches him into the ground with a punch from behind. “Your balance is off.”

“You fight me once, and now you’re an expert?” the blonde quips, pulling her orange tank top back down as far as it’ll go. “I mean, you’re right, but there’s a perfectly valid reason for that.” She drags the fox faunus out of the house with one arm before Blake can even move to help.

“I…” She trails off, wants to apologise for everything, wants to wrap her in a hug, tell her _you’re mine_ and mean it.

“I was protecting my friends. A faunus, an heiress, and my sister.” Yang pretends she doesn’t notice the raven-haired girl’s slight grimace at the mere mention of ‘heiress’. “It was _my_ choice to fight you, and it was _my_ choice that made me lose an arm. You don’t get to take all the credit just because people think the White Fang are evil.”

 _Think._ Of all the words to hang on, that was what Blake picked out. Yang’s already disappearing upstairs, and she’s watching blonde hair sway with each tired step. They’re not on opposing sides; not really, anyway. She thinks of her sword on the blonde’s throat again, eyes burning crimson and wicked smile filling her view. She’s not entirely convinced Yang doesn’t just think its foreplay, building to an eventual moment when they both confess to each other in the heat of battle. Blood and sweat mixing as they kiss, weapons pressed against each other’s necks. _I could get used to love like that,_ Blake thinks.

The morning after, Yang can’t help but worry she’s fallen into an alternate dimension. Blake’s _smiling,_ looking up from her breakfast in an unbuttoned deep purple shirt that reveals a black bra underneath, tight-fitting leather pants and heeled boots that stretch all the way up to her thighs. She says something about having bought Yang more appropriate clothing, but that’s only a possibility, Yang’s too busy gawking to actually process words. Sunlight gets lost on its way through her hair, still impossibly black and curling down either side of her face. For a second, she stretches, still tired, and her shirt rides up to reveal a uniform horizontal line on the side of her abdomen. Yang pictures herself kissing it, whispering, _I can take all its memories from you,_ and means it, lazy smile tugging at her mouth as she sits down at what would previously have been uncomfortably close for Blake.

“Want me to put on a show to go with your meal?” Yang jabs an elbow into her side, reaches over to inspect the clothes more carefully. “I charge by the minute.”

“I’m a fast eater.” Blake shoots back, unfazed.

“You might need to help,” the blonde says, pulling her pyjama top off and over her head in one practiced motion. She’s toying with Blake and she knows it. Lets a hint of red seep into her eyes as she slides her pyjama pants down before replacing her t-shirt. Cropped and _very_ fitted, leaving abs and biceps exposed, hugging what parts of her it did cover. The sleeveless khaki jacket rests lightly over it, able to cover her midriff if needed. Black leggings are pulled up over her boyshorts, and Blake’s finally able to tear her eyes away.

“That wasn’t very subtle.” Yang adds, feels the flush of her own cheeks as well.

“Good.” Blake nods, “wasn’t supposed to be.” She stops herself ripping the new outfit off as quickly as it was put on, though only barely. The air between them is buzzing with electricity, with lust and violence. She wants to silence her just as much as she wants to hear her name repeated by Yang, lowly, seductively, endlessly.

 _Why her,_ Blake muses, crouched on a rooftop overlooking a group of recent arrivals to Menagerie. _Whose twisted idea of attraction is this?_ Her scroll buzzes, a message from Sienna flashing up as her free hand glides to her sword;  
_Junior Xiong’s men. After the blonde you brought back._

“Yang’s _mine._ ” Blake growls, drops perfectly into the middle of the group. Red blades swing down only for the clone to shimmer and break, katana embedding itself into the chest of one lowlife, ribbon pulled taut and glistening in the moonlight. She pulls the sword free, uses her other blade to leave a deep gash on another’s back. For once, she’s not showing restraint, and it’s a massacre. A sickly grin finds a home in her features, eyes wild, body twisting in unusual ways because it’s the only way she knows how to fight. No longer a dance for Adam’s pleasure, she makes sure it’s as quick as possible. There’re no screams, just bodies piling up around her.

“Blake!” Yang’s voice soothes her bloodlust, repaints the world in yellow and purple instead of red and black. “…Those are Junior’s men,” the realisation hits, Blake finally turns back to her, spots of blood the only imperfections on her face.

“You belong to me,” she repeats, and she’s already coming undone, cheeks glistening.

“Say it properly.” The blonde steels herself, resists the urge to embrace her and run fingers through her hair, whisper words like they’ll fix everything. _Say you love me._ _Let me into your broken heart._

“I belong to you.” Blake reiterates, doesn’t understand why Yang’s entire being breaks in two. “I can’t- don’t want to see anyone else hurt you. No one’s allowed to touch you but me.” Yang’s hand interlaces with hers as they fall to their knees together. It’s messed up. _She’s_ messed up. Hell, maybe they both are. Love without control so foreign to her that it feels like another language.

“I’m not dying now.” Yang laughs, dryly, “it’s with you, or not at all.”

“Not at all doesn’t sound so bad right now,” Blake wrings out between tired gasps, tears drying. “I’ve got a long way to go before my work is done.”

The light thuds on the balcony are the only indicator anyone’s joined Blake as she stares out into the forests lining the edge of the city. Sienna knows she can’t sneak up on the high leader, and she doesn’t pretend to, leaning beside her and trying to read the young girl’s expression.

“What is she to you, really?” The elder faunus asks, knows she’s one of few people Blake won’t lie to.

“I don’t know.” The honesty in the confession stings, confused and hurt, “when I want her to be with me, I think… I’m scared that’s how Adam felt.” A tear falls, but there’s no shift in her features to accommodate it. Something broke inside a long time ago, and she’s trying to fix it without the instructions.

“Blake, there’s not a single bone in your body that’s like his.”

“How do you know that for sure?” Blake snaps, punctuated by sobs, “how do you know I won’t hurt Yang like he hurt me!?”

Sienna’s arm wraps around her shoulders, pulls her close. She starts a little, but relaxes as Sienna starts to speak again,

“You’re like your parents. They were the kindest people I’ve ever known. If they were still here, Adam would never have risen as high as he did. And he would _never_ have gotten under your skin. You’re a Belladonna underneath it all. Don’t _ever_ think any different.” She offers a weak smile, hopes her words convey the intended meaning. Blake sighs, lets her shoulders fall as she works through all the thoughts in her head, searches for the right one.

“I think I love her,” she forces the words out, and it doesn’t go unnoticed, but it’s a start.

“Then show her that. Stop pretending you’re enemies because it’s the easy way out.”

With that, she departs, leaves Blake alone once again. She’s not alone, not really. Yang’s light is finally dragging her out of the shadows, and it’s about time she stopped resisting.

Black and yellow. A perfect, constant reminder of Blake. There’s a design roughly sprayed over the large plate that makes up the forearm of Yang’s new arm, like a black flame, like midnight burning. Most importantly to Yang, its weight was perfect. Lacking in the weapons department, but Bran insisted on her adding those personally, worried about inferior replication. The comment earned him a genuine smile as she stepped back outside to re-join Blake, leaning on a railing opposite the clinic. She’d give a lot more than her arm to see that smile all the time.

“That icon,” Blake steps towards her, turns the grip of Gambol Shroud to face her, “it’s mine. From before the White Fang.”

“Bran said it’s a good luck charm.” Yang shrugs, hides her blush easily in the sunset. The faunus smirks, grabs the new prosthetic and practically jogs away. “What’re you doing?” She asks half-heartedly, already running behind her.

“ _Dancing!_ ” Blake shouts, knows Yang understands exactly what she means.

The masked guards crash through the doorway, followed in short order by Yang and Blake. Working together, their routine is immaculate, trading targets and styles effortlessly as Adam’s supporters try, and fail, to stop them. Yang’s hair burns bright, improvising her new arm as a bullet shield before twisting her attacker’s wrist and sending him to the floor in a single punch, far more at home with adrenaline rushing through her system. She’s like a jazz solo, wild and beautiful, marching to no other tune than her own. Shotgun blasts ring out like drum beats, keeping time and filling in gaps between stutter-steps.

Blake, on the other hand, is much more akin to a piano refrain. Fast, immaculate, but at the same time she’s only one missed note from falling apart. Her semblance picks up the slack, lets her keep playing when she really shouldn’t, ribbon dancing around behind her like an expert gymnast. Her katana’s held with a reversed grip, deliberately going for pain instead of lethality, swapping at a moment’s notice to shoot down bullets with her own. She makes a point of removing each mask, reminding them who she is, who they’re supposed to be loyal to. It’s only then, punch-drunk and tired, that she actually lets herself see Yang properly. Golden hair cascading in a waterfall down her back, amethyst eyes wide and looking back at her, muscles relaxing now that the fight’s over. Her own icon emblazoned on the prosthetic, hanging loosely by the girl’s side like it’s always belonged there.

Yang sees the same girl she always has. Watches her ears twitch a little as she calms down, does her best not to let on that she’s following the deep V-neck of Blake’s top, darts back to her mouth, sees her tongue slip over her lower lip in anticipation. The universe reforms around them, forces them closer and closer until their lips finally meet; inevitable, inescapable. Her heart pounds against her ribs, only to pause as Blake’s hand knots in her hair, the other looping under her shoulder and pulling her closer. Yang’s hands fall to the raven-haired girl’s waist, tongue slipping over her lips and skin burning.

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t-” Blake stumbles over words as she pulls away, only for Yang to kiss her once more, set things right in the world before she continues, “Adam always spoke like I belonged to him. Like I owed him something. You don’t-”

“I _know_.” Yang whispers against Blake’s ear. “But you belong to me as much as I belong to you.” She smiles, lets Blake rest her head on her chest, hopes she can hear their souls calling out to each other. “We belong to each other.”

“What _are_ we, Yang?” She asks, suddenly wanting any word other than _enemies._

“I don’t know. Star-crossed lovers in another life, maybe.” Yang sighs, sways gently with Blake in her arms. _All I know is we can’t lose each other,_ she wants to say, wonders how the faunus she kissed even got into this mess.

“I think I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's about it for the first part of Blake's perspective. The idea is to bounce back and forth between Blake and Yang: Blake's side highlights some more significant story beats as well as her own perspective, Yang's will go back over those main story points as well as introduce her own, obviously mostly happening when the two are separate

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Girl Who Helped Her Find Her Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599140) by [ChaoticEther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticEther/pseuds/ChaoticEther), [faolan228](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faolan228/pseuds/faolan228)




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